a contest entry

Scottish Tragedy, Interrupted

Ian MacClellan’s tomorrows crept by in their petty pace, their passings unnoticed and uncontested until the afternoon of his sixty-second birthday. That morning, he drove to work on autopilot – forty years of habit lighting his way to his dusty daily destiny.

At 2:00, he sat at his unfestooned desk, and took stock.

Sixty-two gone. How many left?

At 2:15, he bought a motorcycle on eBay and, faintly smiling, sauntered into Personnel to submit his resignation.